Between Existing and Living
by Vaguely
Summary: Sirius hates the fall.


**Between Existing and Living**

Sirius hates the fall.

For most of his life he has believed wholeheartedly that fall is the worst season created. It is the bastard child of all the seasons. It is not spring in its glorious rebirth, or summer when Sirius can go naked into ponds as is only natural, and it isn't winter when the entire world is silenced under a heavy blanket, begging Sirius to disrupt and throw snowballs.

Fall is the time of erratic weather and the limbo that exists between the bloom of summer and the death of winter, of school again and having to adjust to new classes and new teachers. The prevailing theme of fall at Hogwarts always seems to be either drizzling rain of the freezing cold variety, or windy with unpredictable temperatures.

"I hate fall," he moans for what seems like the hundredth time, leaning into James to shield himself from another burst of wind coming off the lake.

"Why are we out here?" asks Peter as he stamps his feet in either defiance or boredom, no one can ever tell.

"Prongs here thought Lily was out here. Prongs here led us to the cold mistress of fall."

Pause. "Prongs is a bastard."

"Peter, your occasional intellectual insights thrill me."

With a grunt, James turns back to them, having finished scanning the grounds for a hint of red. "Alright, you poofs, then let's go inside."

They are already halfway to the door when Peter asks suddenly, "Where's Remus?" Sirius turns around and looks to the side of the building, where Remus is now walking, and he sighs.

"He's lost again. I'll go get him. Tell the house elves I expect hot chocolate." He manages to catch up with Remus as the other boy is following the curve of the grounds around the west wing of the castle. His scarf is hung loosely around his neck and he's wearing a patched brown overcoat and for a moment Sirius is struck by how very Remus he is in that moment, wandering the grounds, hands deep in his pocket, oblivious to all.

"Scenic tour?" Remus starts and turns to look at Sirius, a half smile on his face.

"It's lovely out, isn't it?" he asks, inhaling the crisp fall air and looking about the grounds with a glimmer of what could be mistaken for pride in the corner of his eyes.

"Yes. The rotting corpse that is Hogwarts is lovely," Sirius mutters darkly, kneeling to tie his shoe.

Above him Remus peers down, mildly amused. "Bitter, are we? Why do you hate fall?"

Straightening again, Sirius glances at Remus, and feels that pleasant warmth in his stomach that always comes when he knows he has Remus' attention, and hides it by rolling his eyes and gesturing with his hands. "I just hate fall. It is a season of dying, like I need to be reminded of that every time I walk out to Herbology. The weather is always off, and everything -- "

Remus leans over and takes Sirius' chin in one hand and kisses him. It is quiet and reverent, silencing whatever Sirius has to say or ever wants to say. And more so than the scarf, the overcoat, this is Remus.

Remus pulls back, a little flushed, a small smile dancing on his lips, tugging ever so slightly at the most impressive of his scars as he looks beyond Sirius to where multicolored leaves shook delicately in the wind only they could feel. "Sorry," he says, but he doesn't sound sorry.

It is almost beyond Sirius, because it is a grand gesture of a different sort. It involved no explosions, no bright lights, no audiences. He wonders if he will be able to understand it, and wonders if such a feat is harder still under the glow that he realizes now has always been about Remus. It is subtle in every way that he is not.

His silence worries Remus, whose smile fades and he shifts a little, looking down at his feet. "That was rather stupid," he murmurs. The glow fades a little and something rears in Sirius' mind, a something that rushes through every inch of him and he leans forward like Remus had, with a little more meaning and a lot more hesitation and tips Remus' chin up so that he can catch his lips.

He has never wanted someone to kiss him as much as he does now, and knows that in the past this would be cause for bracing oneself against stone walls, for rough hands and a hint of desperate anger, and he is amazed now to find that this kiss in the middle of a green lawn and in the shadow of an ancient castle is more raw and more dangerous than skinned knuckles and bruised lips.

They pull apart at the same time; a leaf skitters between their legs, and Remus smiles again. "We should get back to the castle." A breeze blows through them, lifting Sirius' hair and chilling his hands, as a very light rain begins to fall. He shivers and Remus wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer into the glow.

Sirius loves the fall.


End file.
